


Always

by Shippershape



Series: Stretch & Dr. Goodkin [26]
Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Some Swearing, minor blood and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4783952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes we can’t have it both ways.</p><p>A trip to the bank quickly turns into a dangerous hostage situation. Kirsten and Cameron are caught in the middle of it, and something goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

Cameron hates the bank. It might have something to do with the fact that they bring back memories of his parents, and the day they set up his trust fund. That day had ended in tears all around, and an eight year old Cameron announcing his plan to move to Tibet and refuse a cent of their money.

Anyways, he hates the bank. But Kirsten needed to cash a significant cheque from Ed’s estate, and he’d promised to tag along. So he’s here, and he’s not complaining. On the outside at least. But the look Kirsten keeps giving him makes him suspect she can all but hear his internal dialogue. She’s giving it to him now. He smiles.

“So, Stretch. Any plans for that money?”

She shrugs. That seems to be her trademark response.

“I wish this line would move a little faster.” She mutters, frowning. He agrees. The line has been barely crawling along, they’ve been waiting for at least twenty minutes.

“Not a lot you can do. We could play I Spy.” He suggests. Her only response is to roll her eyes. “Fine. Just trying to distract you.” He mumbles. Her face softens.

“Thanks. And thank you for coming, I know you don’t like banks.” She says softly. He’s honestly surprised she picked up on that, what with her difficulty recognizing emotions, but he’s touched anyways. His face breaks into a smile.

“Wow, an expression of gratitude from our very own Kirsten Clark.” He teases. “I should really get that on tape.” She shoves him, and he stumbles into the guy in line behind them. “Sorry.” He apologizes. The man, a bearded redhead in a plastic poncho and jeans, blinks at them.

“S’okay.” He mutters, turning his back to them. Cameron gives Kirsten a quizzical look, but they both write him off as one of the many trademark weirdos in LA.

“So, I was thin-” Just as Cameron turns back to Kirsten, a shot rings out behind them. Instinctually, he dives on top of her, covering her body with his. The gunfire stops, and Cameron swivels his head to take in three men in black jumpsuits, wearing ski masks. His heart, already hammering violently against his ribcage, sinks.

“This is a robbery.” One of the men says, and it’s so cliché Cameron would laugh if he wasn’t so terrified. “Everyone on the ground, now. If you stay there, and stay quiet, nobody gets hurt.” He waves his semi-automatic menacingly in front of him.

One of his buddies steps forward, cutting in.

“And don’t even think about trying to call for help. You won’t get a signal.”

Cameron feels movement beneath him, and glances down to see Kirsten pulling out her phone. Her face tells him that the masked robber is telling the truth. Which means they’re on their own.

“Now.” The first gunman rounds on the teller closest to him. “We want five million in cash, I know you have at least twice that on the premises. Don’t try anything, don’t give me marked bills, and if you try to slip a tracker into my money I _will_ kill you.” He presses the muzzle of his gun directly against her temple. “Move.” She does so, with a whimper, pulling cash from the window behind her and thrusting it into the duffel bag he placed on the counter. 

“Kirsten.” Cameron murmurs, checking on her. They’re both laying face down on the floor, his arm across her back. “You okay?” She turns her face to look at him, chin brushing the ground.

“I’m fine.” And she is, he can see it. He realizes her condition would make it easier for her to process things like the fact that they’re in the middle of a bank robbery. Her eyes are wide, but clear, voice steady. He doesn’t feel nearly as calm as she looks, but he’s hoping that their lives aren’t in immediate danger. Still, the idea of anything happening to her has his heart sprinting again.

“We need to figure out a way to tip off the cops.” He mutters quietly. “There’s no point in trying to stop them from in here, but if we can figure out how to make contact…” He trails off, deep in thought. Beside him, Kirsten taps away at her phone.

“I think I can access the satellite network from here.” She whispers, eyes narrowed at the screen. “I hacked into them the other day when I couldn’t get reception to call in that Thai food.”

He stares at her.

“You hacked government satellites to call in our Pad Thai?” He really shouldn’t be surprised. She sighs, then ignores him. He keeps an eye on the two gunners pacing the lobby, flinching internally every time they look in his direction. “Kirsten.” He hisses. “Whatever you’re doing, you need to do it faster.”

Beside him, she lets out an irritated huff.

“Oh I’m sorry, do you think you could do it faster Mr-I’ve-never-studied- computer-science-unlike-Kirsten?” She asks, mocking him. He frowns.

“If they see you-”

“Relax, I’m almost done. There.” She taps at her screen a final time, then slides it out of view under her chest. “I sent a message to Fisher.” Cameron hums in acknowledgment. He’s impressed, but around Kirsten that seems to be his default setting anyways. Everything about her is amazing to him.

“Wait.” He says, something suddenly occurring to him. He turns to her in panic. “Kirsten, did you remember to-”

He gets his answer before he can finish the question, her phone letting out a loud beep as Fisher’s reply comes in. He stares at her in horror, mouth falling open as the harsh silence sets in around them. Her eyes go wide with fear.

“I-”

“Give it to me!” He whispers. She stares at him, confused and frozen. “Kirsten!” She doesn’t move, so he does. He snatches the phone out from under her, sliding it into his jean pocket just as it lets out another loud beep. He winces, and the gunman closest to him locks his gaze on Cameron.

“You!” He points his gun directly at Cameron’s head. “What was that?”

Cameron gulps.

“Low battery.” He lies. The gunner eyes him suspiciously.

“Give me your phone.” He demands, poking Cameron in the forehead with his gun. Cameron closes his eyes, fighting the urge to scream. Slowly, he reaches into his back pocket, and retrieves Kirsten’s phone. He holds it out, and the gunman grabs it out of his hand. He fiddles with it for a few seconds, then snarls in frustration. “What’s the password?”

He feels Kirsten tense beside him. Keeping his eyes forward, he takes a deep breath to steady his voice before answering.

“0804CG0812.” He says it slowly, watching as the robber struggles to type it in while holding his gun. His grip on the rifle slips, and it comes crashing down onto Cameron’s face. It hits his nose with a sickening crunch, and the entire room flashes into a blinding white as the gun goes off. All he can hear is a suffocating buzzing, his ears protesting the loud shot. The scene in front of him is swimming, and he realizes belatedly that the crimson tint on everything is a result of the blood streaming down his face and into his eyes. He raises a hand to his face, assessing the damage, and determines that the blood is coming from a gash on his forehead as well as his nose. He tries to blink it away, but it’s coming too fast.

“Cameron!” His name sounds tinny and distorted, almost lost in the ringing in his ears. There’s a hand on his back, and it’s hers. Kirsten is sheet white beside him, pupils blown wide in fear. “Are-are you shot?”

He shakes his head, regretting it when the motion causes a searing flash of pain.

“No.” He groans. The word is slurred through blood and dizziness, and she looks almost more upset than she did before. “M’okay.” He mutters. Her fingers curl into the fabric on his back, and she grips it like a lifeline.

“I’m-” She doesn’t get to tell him what she is. The gunman whose rifle went off reclaims his weapon, and upon realizing no real damage was done, glares down at Cameron. He waves the phone in the air.

“What the fuck is this?” He roars. Cameron can’t read the messages on the screen from where he is, but he knows what they are. He spits out a mouthful of blood, trying not to choke on it. It’s running down the back of his throat as well, and he’s beginning to feel sick and weak.

“I think you know.” Cameron says. He’s tired, but this isn’t over, and Kirsten’s hand is still anchored in his shirt. He would die for her, he’s done it before. He just hopes this doesn’t have to be that, not again.

“You tipped off the cops.” The robber says. At his words, the other two stop and turn towards them. “How could you have done that?” He asks. Cameron wants to put his head down, wants all of this to be over. Their voices are beginning to echo, and it’s making it difficult to understand them.

“I hacked into the satellite networks and sent them an emergency message.” He says thickly, nose now completely blocked with blood and swelling. The three men exchange a glance.

“We have to go.” The third one, silent until now, hoists his weapon back into position. “We don’t have time for this.”

The first robber, the one at the counter, gun still strained on the teller, pauses.

“Shit.” He curses. The other two look at him, waiting. “SHIT!” He screams again, angrily, ripping the bag out from the hands of the teller. “Alright, let’s go.” He slings the bag over his shoulder and points his gun at Cameron. The last robber follows suit, and suddenly there are three rifles aimed directly at his face. He stiffens.

“You’re lucky I don’t feel like adding homicide to my rapsheet.” The leader growls, marching over to them. He smashes the butt of his gun into Cameron’s temple, and for a blissful second, it’s over.

Then he’s back, the world is flashes of red and white and pain, but there are still familiar knuckles digging into his back, and for now that’s all that matters. He coughs, spluttering blood and spit and to his utter disgust, a chip of tooth. But the room is loud with movement, and as he looks around he sees that the masked gunmen are gone.

“Cameron.” Kirsten lets go of his shirt and kneels in front of him. “Hey, you’re going to be okay. Fisher’s coming.” She says, leaning down to put her hand on his bloodied face. She’s so gentle, and her voice is so soft, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this side of her before. He sits up, painfully, and he gags when he can feel all the blood he’s swallowed sloshing in his stomach.

“M’good Stretch.” He mumbles, trying to smile. He can’t, can’t even get close. Her eyes are shining, or maybe that’s just the blood loss. She lets out a tragic little hiccup, sitting back on her heels.

“What were you _thinking_?!” She breathes, terror still lingering in her eyes like a bad dream. “I could have handled that, you’re a terrible liar, you shouldn’t have done that, you sho-”

“I was thinking that I need to keep you safe.” He slurs, blinking through the mist. “Always.”

She just sits there, chest heaving with emotion, eyes trailing over his ruined face.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” She finally says, so soft he almost misses it.

“Do what?” He’s beginning to wonder where Fisher is, the police should have been here by now.

“I just-” She gestures at him. “Cameron, I know I can’t tell you what do, but I’m not okay with this.”

He sighs.

“So I was supposed to let this, or worse, happen to _you_? Not likely Cupcake.”

She bites her lip, eyes sad and endless. They roam over him again, turn absent. Wherever she is now, she’s a million miles away.

“Is this what love is?” She asks, distractedly. “Fighting over who gets hurt, getting hurt either way?”

He blinks.

“Wait, what are you-”

Just then, with the kind of bad timing that can only be achieved by the LAPD, a group of officers burst through the door. Cameron tilts his head, and sees that Fisher is with them. The uniforms seem to realize that the threat is gone, and disperse through the crowd of panicking civilians, taking statements and calming them. Fisher catches sight of them and makes a beeline for where they’re sitting.

“Jesus, kid.” He takes in Cameron’s appearance with poorly disguised horror. Cameron’s suddenly glad he doesn’t know what he looks like. Fisher waves over a couple of paramedics. “Are you two okay?” He asks, glancing between them.

“I’m fine.” Kirsten says.

“Nothing life threatening.” Cameron seconds. Fisher doesn’t look entirely convinced of that. The paramedics arrive, instantly all over him. Kirsten reluctantly backs off to give them space to work, but hovers close, never taking her eyes off of him.

Cameron can hear Fisher getting Kirsten’s statement, and begins to drift off to the sound of her voice.

“Woah, hold on there.” One of the medics, an older man with salt and pepper hair, gently squeezes Cameron’s arm. “You can’t go to sleep.”

Kirsten’s voice stops, and then starts again, right next to his ear.

“Cameron, wake up. You probably have a concussion.”

He tries to open his eyes, but they’re so heavy, and his head screams every time he opens them and lets the light in.

“Cameron Goodkin, open your eyes.” She pokes him this time, and he blinks indignantly at her.

“Ow.” He mutters.

The grey haired medic turns to her.

“Keep talking, we need him to stay awake until we get him to the hospital.”

Cameron winces as they slide a stretcher underneath him, then groans when it’s lifted in the air. Kirsten walks alongside him, and he fixes his gaze on her to stave off the nausea from the rocking motion.

“So.” She frowns at him. “How exactly did you know my password?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t try to smile this time, he’s in too much pain. But he wants to.

“I saw you type it in once.”

Something in her face changes, almost like disappointment.

“What?” He asks, concerned. She schools her features into a smile.

“Nothing. I just thought I was smarter than that.” She shrugs. He doesn’t buy it.

“What’s going on Stretch?” He slurs, eyes drifting shut again. He hisses with pain when they load him into the back of the ambulance, and she climbs in beside him.

“Cameron?” Her voice sounds far away. “Hey. Wake up.”

He grunts, but ignores her.

“Do you know what it means?” She asks. He opens one eye.

“What what means?”

“0804.” She tells him. “August fourth. The day you stopped your heart.”

He opens the other eye, as far as it will go considering the swelling, and stares at her.

“0812. August twelfth. The day you woke up.” Her voice is low, but it wavers. The younger paramedic, a young Asian girl, closes the back doors. He can hear her climb into the cab of the ambulance in front of them, and the engine starts. He doesn’t take his eyes off Kirsten.

“CG.” He mutters. _Cameron Goodkin_. It seems obvious now.

She smiles.

“Yeah.”

He’s silent for a moment, processing that.

“What you said earlier…about getting hurt…what did you mean?” He asks, wondering if he’s foolish for being so hopeful. She frowns at him, evaluating.

“You said you want to keep me safe…but if it means that you’re getting hurt in my place, it hurts just the same.” She murmurs. “You want to protect me, because you love me. And I want to protect you.” She pauses. “Because I love you. But sometimes we can’t have it both ways.”

He gapes at her, wincing when his jaw clicks.

“You love me?” He’s holding his breath, because he’s afraid it will go away. After all this time, he’s terrified. He expects her to smile, or to laugh, or anything, anything other than the sad eyes and the trembling lip that he gets.

“Cameron. You’re-you are _so good_. And I’m not like you.” He’s never heard sorrow like that in someone’s voice. It makes his chest hurt. “I’m not good for you.”

He can’t believe this.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He asks, incredulous. She blinks. “Kirsten, I love that you’re not like me. You’re incredible and brilliant, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His words are slurred, and fumbled, and his voice is thick with blood and pain, but he means it, every word.

She stares. Time stretches on, seconds ticking by, and he know that she can’t feel it, but it’s all he feels.

“Yes.” She finally says. He realizes she’s answering his question from earlier. “I love you.”

She reaches out, brushing her fingers ever so softly against his cheek. It’s electric, even through his haze of pain. Something new.

“I love you too, Stretch.” He says.

She sighs.

“Do you think you could stop getting hurt, then?” She asks. He wheezes out a laugh, the splitting pain in his head nearly doubling.

“I’ll do my best.” He promises.

“And I’ll protect you.” She says, her own promise. It should sound backwards to him, but for some reason it doesn’t.

-

Over the years, they fight spectacularly every time one of them gets hurt. Some things never change. But it doesn’t take long for them to realize that they never really had a choice, that there’s no world in which they wouldn’t choose to be together. So they save each other, every day in the small ways, and, more rarely, in the hard ways. After all, she’s the best thing that ever happened to him, and he reminds her that she’s whole.

 


End file.
